Page 45 of If You Like It, I Love It

“No one is guilty of anything,” Merilee says. “Because no crime has been committed.”

She walks to Oliver and gently pats his neck. He nudges her shoulder, asking for scritches instead. “Okay, sweetie. I wasn’t sure how much attention you’d want,” she says.

“Speaking of attention seekers,” Rhett says, extending his hand to Derringer. “How was the tour?”

“Epic, but exhausting.”

“Sounds about right. Welcome home.” He hands Derringer the first beer from his cooler.

Mav scoffs, but then he shakes Derringer’s hand, too. “I still don’t approve.”

“Do you really think you had to say that out loud?” Derringer asks, smiling and shaking his head as if Mav’s opinion is of absolutely no consequence when it comes to his relationship with Merilee. “Is your stage available Friday night?”

“Yeah. Show up. Make me some money.”

Mav would never admit it, but I think he feels like a mentor to Derringer in some ways, like a cool uncle, heavy on the mentor, easy on the cool part. He’s proud of him, though, no matter how much he’d like to keep him away from Merilee. Mav is stubborn, but eventually, he’s going to have to let that go. I won’t be the one to tell him, though. Sabrina tells him often enough, I’m sure.

We eat dinner under the stars, sip wine and beer, listen to Sabrina’s local gossip and Derringer’s stories from the road. Oliver beds down as if he’s listening, too. He likes having all of us out here with him.

This is good, but he needs friends he can chase and bump and neck wrestle with. I cast my gaze to the stars and send up a wish for a quick adoption. I’m still not sure how I’m going to make it work, but I’ll find a way.

Enzo disrupts my wish-making to say, “I looked up castration teeth.”

Rhett and Derringer shudder and pull back as if they must have misheard him.

Mav spits out his beer. “You looked up what?”

I laugh at their reactions because men’s reactions to that will never not be funny to me. “And what did you find?”

“That you and your boss made it sound worse than it is, like it’s a thing one alpaca will definitely do to another. It’s not an automatic response.”

“But it does happen . . .” I trail off with a shrug. “And did we make it sound worse or did you just assume the worst?”

Rhett shifts in his camp chair. “To be fair, once the word castration is mentioned, I think assuming the worst is a normal response.”

“No shit,” Mav adds, ever the poet.

I don’t think Derringer has blinked once since Enzo said the c-word. “I’m not sure I’ve been back in town long enough for this story.”

Sabrina nods thoughtfully. “There really are some stories told here that would feel a lot stranger in other places.”

Mav narrows his eyes at her. “Let’s don’t romanticize this one too much. I don’t even need to hear it to believe it’d be strange anywhere.”

“Speaking of romance,” Merilee says, prompting Mav’s neck to nearly snap as he turns to shoot her a warning look. She glares right back. “Would a mate possibly help Oliver?”

“Not a mate,” I say. “But he does need companions. He was castrated by a human, so he can’t breed, but living alone is what made him sick.”

I hate admitting this out loud.

“You saved his life, Joni,” Rhett says in that way he has of speaking as if his word is the last on the subject. “Now, you’ll find him some friends and save him all over again.”

That is a very kind spin on what I’ve done. And I appreciate it so much. Maybe I’m not the solitary creature I’ve tried to convince myself I am either.

“Oliver is winding down for the night,” Enzo says. “Maybe we should all do the same.”

Everyone agrees and starts gathering their stuff. A stiff breeze kicks up out of nowhere, ushering in the promised cool front. Oliver hums softly as fallen leaves rustle around him. He’s content, not stressed.

Me, too, buddy. Me, too.